


Get Lucky

by Callmesalticidae, shadow_wasserson



Series: The Gods Have Horns [11]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Bars and Pubs, F/F, Forced Kissing, Godstuck, One Night Stand, angel scouts, eco terrorism, meddlesome gods, night out on the town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4083787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmesalticidae/pseuds/Callmesalticidae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_wasserson/pseuds/shadow_wasserson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vriska Serket goes out on the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Lucky

Your name is Vriska Serket. Your title is Thief of Light. But since using either of those names counts as a _prayer_ , you generally don’t like people to use them. Instead you go by Lady Luck, or Spinneret, or She-Who-Tightens-The-Throat. Some call you Scorpion Woman, or The Arachnid, or Our Lady of Victory. That last one always makes you laugh.

Tonight, you’re going out on the town.

When you arrive at the small mining town, you quickly switch out your blazing yellow godhood for something more appropriate: black leather jacket, buckled heeled boots, blue jeans tight and low, and the Sigil of Light on a stud piercing your eyebrow. You ditch the wings for now.

Now, what to do with yourself?

There are casinos, naturally, in a town like this, with stylized scorpions carved into their doorposts. Once, they used real scorpions, soaked in brandy, but these days the managers are so cheap. You could go teach them a lesson. You could clean them out, but that’s so easy it’s lost its thrill.

So you stride past the casinos. Leave them for another night, maybe. But for now? Well. Casinos are not the only place mortals go to get lucky.

The nightclub bouncer takes one look at you and nearly wets himself, so you lean over, hand him an antique dubloon, and say: “Go treat yourself.” He holds the coin like it’s a live asp.

The thrum of loud music envelops you as you walk in. Human music has always felt ‘off’, to you. You’ve gotten used to it, of course, but you’ve never quite acquired a taste for it.

The nightclub is smoky and dark, but you can see easily. You are surrounded by the bodies of men and women, gyrating in the throes of human sexual expression. Few notice you, and this is acceptable, for now.

You make your way to the bar, and call to the fat bartender for a shot of his best stuff. When he sees you, he scoots over faster you would have thought possible for a man of his size, holding a bottle of expensive scotch in shaking hands.

“Is this to my Lady’s liking?” he asks, and isn’t it _sweet_ how his voice stays steady?

You take a bit of his luck (just a little!) and he drops the bottle, smashing it to pieces on the ground.

“Rum, idiot,” you say.

He hollers for an assistant to clean up the mess, and you wait, ever-so-patiently, for him to bring you some rum.

While you wait, you scan the dancing crowd. A few looked over, when the bottle dropped. Those who did, and saw you, quickly went back to dancing. You can hear them whispering your name, to themselves or each other, in the back of your mind. It’s like static, or like a chatroom you aren’t looking at directly.

_Thief of Light, honored, victorious, let me be._

_Oh, Thief of Light, please look the other way._

_Shit man, it’s the Thief of Light, hope she passes us over._

You roll your eyes. These idiots don’t know anything. They’re using your title, not your name, which means they’re both too cowardly to use your name _and_ too dumb to know you can still hear them when they use your title.

You tune the never-ending prattle out again as the bartender returns, this time securely cradling the rum. He pours you some, and you drink.

It tastes terrible, all alcohol does, and it doesn’t do anything for you but upset your stomach, but you’re not bringing Sollux’s stupid ‘happy honey’ with you to a bar. That would be pathetic.

“Hit me again,” you say.

_Oh shit, is the Thief of Light going to get drunk?_

Good thing correcting ignorance isn’t your job. You’d go crazy!

You’re on your third shot when you see her. She’s wearing a pink tank top and skirt with flats, and there’s a man talking with her, a miner, probably. Her hands move, fidget, tuck a strand of short, dishwater blonde hair behind an ear. Sweet little thing.

The man leans forward, and the girl leans back. She can probably smell his breath. He probably smells like coal dust and cheap tobacco.

You stand up, and make your way over to the two, unrushed, unconcerned.

The man falls asleep on his feet when you’re still several yards away, and when you get there you only have to prod him gently with fingertip, for him to fall over.

You smile at the girl, who looks stunned. “Was he bothering you?”

The girl swallows. You try to guess how old she is. It’s so hard in mortals. Anywhere between 16 and 30 seems plausible. “Yes, a little, my Lady.”

“What would you have done, if I wasn’t here to help?”

The girl chews on her lip. “I would have gritted my teeth to bear it, unless he tried to touch me or get fresh. Then I would hit him with my purse.”

You laugh. She’s so _cute_.

“Care to dance?” you ask.

She nods.

* * *

You dance, you wiggle and shake, the way humans do. And she sweats, the way humans do when they exert themselves. You must look a strange pair, pink polyester and black leather, but you don’t mind. You’ve barely started this game.

“My name is Adele,” she offers, without you asking.

“What are you doing here, Adele?” you ask, in the break between dances.

She smiles. “I’m here to dance.”

You shake your head. “No, I mean why are you here, in this town?” She does not seem the mining type.

“To fight the mining conglomerate, actually,” she replies, giggling. Is she tipsy after only one drink? “I’m here with Eternal Rivers.”

Eternal Rivers? You’ve never heard of them. Sounds like a nature-freak group. One of Feferi’s? Must be new.

“Oh?” you prompt. “What for?”

“We’re going to monkey-wrench the explosives.”

Ah, of course. No wonder you were attracted to her. She’s facing immense odds, if she wants to take on a whole mining super-conglomerate. How precious.

You smile, encouragingly. “Sounds like fun. Good luck.”

This is the real test. Will she ask? Will she pray to you for help, or not?

She doesn’t. “It isn’t fun, it’s important work! These are vital rivers that they’re polluting with mountaintop removal.” She’s so _earnest_.

“I’ll bet,” you say. You offer her a sip of your drink.  “Why don’t you tell me more about it, back at your place?”

She declines your drink. “Vriska Serket,” she says, bold as brass, and though the name is barely a blip against the white noise of prayers in your name, your attention is completely focused on her. “I am not that kind of girl.”

You smile, and decide right there that the mining supervisor will forget his keys in the door to his office tomorrow.

* * *

You dance, and the club clears out. You can see the manager and the bartender at edge of three- or fourfold of your vision, biting their nails as they watch you. What idiots.

The pounding music slows to a rhythm with blue, and you sway, hands around Adele’s waist. “Tell me,” you say, lowering your voice to a purr, the way humans like it. “After you blow up the mine, what are you going to do?”

“Run away,” Adele breathes. “Hitchhike to Canada. Meet some more activists. Take on the shale moguls.”

“And that’s your life, hmm?” You raise your eyebrows. “Ruining other people’s livelihoods?”

“It’s not like that!” She sounds desperate to make you understand. “It’s about what’s _right_.”

Now that’s interesting. You’d pegged her for one of Feferi’s earlier, but maybe she’s really in with Terezi? How delicious that would be, and yet…

“But not lawful.” You sway back and she steps forward, filling the space.

“No, I’m _right,_ ” she insists. “The laws are not just.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” you say. Oh, this girl is definitely Terezi’s. “But you must have proof? Evidence, right?”

She frowns, and you can practically see fire in her eyes. What will she do?

“I _bet_ ,” you continue. “That you have proof back at your place. Information? Surely, you must.”

“I already told you,” she says. “I’m not-”

“You’re not _stupid,_ are you?” you ask. And then, with Tinge; “ Or are you the kind of girl to let an opportunity like this pass you 8y?”

The girl pales. “I’m…”

“Get me on your side,” you whisper. “Think of what you could accomplish, with my help.”

You wait. The rules of the game have been laid out. Time to see if she takes the bait.

“Alright.” She drops her hands from your shoulders. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Adele is currently living in a tiny, shabby motel room. The carpet is stained, and there is one picture on the wall, of a sailboat. It is _so_ tacky.

“Where are your co-conspirators?” you ask. Surely this girl isn’t going to monkey-wrench _alone?_ The idea, though unlikely, is thrilling. Maybe you can convince her to do so?

“The others are not staying in this motel,” she explains. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

You sit on a cushioned box, which appears to be the only seat in the room, and cross one leg over the other. “Mhm. So where do you keep this proof of yours?”

“It’s in my luggage,” she replies, and indicates the box you are sitting on. You move to sit on the bed so she can open it.

While she’s bending down to fiddle with the suitcase, you change clothes. Black lingerie with a blue spiderweb pattern. It’s _so_ you.

When Adele straightens up, she really is holding some paper files. Oh, what an innocent little thing she is!

“Vriska Serket,” she says, holding the files tightly. “I do not intend to sleep with you.”

You smirk, and lean back on your arms. “You sure? I’ll be gentle.”

“I’m sure,” she says primly. She’s keeping her head pretty level. You wonder what other temptations she regularly turns down.

Then you glance at the open suitcase. There is a small pin, nestled amongst the coats and jeans, glittering like gold. You reach over, movements lazy, as if you’re going to take the files from Adele, but then your hand darts down and snatches the pin.

The pin is a sigil. It’s a Sigil of _Hope_.

Oh, that little shit. You are going to enjoy this. “You were an angel scout?” you ask, your voice mocking. “Selling cookies?”

“I was,” she confirms. “And I am still an Angel today.”

“You mean you really swallow this bullshit?” You turn the sigil over in your hand. It glitters ostentatiously. You don’t wonder why she brought it, if she’s trying to be covert. Angels have to practically wear their memberships on their sleeves, it’s part of their stupid code.

“Our creed, which you call bullshit, is truth,” she says. “It is the abolishment of lies.”

“So you’re blowing up mines, because…?”

“The people who do this kind of mining labor under the delusion that it’s a net gain to society, when it isn’t. It’s destroying things of inexpressible value that cannot be replaced.” She smiles. “We are writing the truth with rubble.”

Oh, little miss _innocent_ , you have _fangs!_

“And what if you’re wrong?” you prod. “What if the mountains are less valuable than the treasures they hide?”

“Look, Lady Serket, the data is right here _._ ” She hands over the files, and you toss them over your shoulder.

“I don’t care about the _facts_. I care about the _odds_. You’re gambling that you’re right, and they’re wrong. But you don’t know that. And,” you continue, when she opens her mouth to interrupt. “That would be fine, by me. But here’s the part I don’t get. What’s in it for _you?”_

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“Oh, bullshit. You’re gambling your freedom, your future, maybe even your life, for what payoff? Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip.”

“Our creed is truth. I know the truth.”

“So you’re trying to get in good with Eridan.” You smile, lean forward, and Tinge your voice. “You want to know the truth, Adele? I’ll tell it to you. ::::)”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t resist, as you continue to come forward. She doesn’t move away when you lean in so close you can whisper in her ear:

“Crusading like this isn’t going to get you in good with him. Nothing you do, nothing you say, can do that. Gambling your life for nothing? That just makes you a _sucker_.” You lick the shell of her ear as you speak, and she flinches away.

You grin at her clear discomfort, and show fangs. “You think you’ll be rewarded for this? You’re a fool. Eridan doesn’t reward anybody. He’s the biggest, most stuck-up prick you could ever meet.”

She finds her voice. “Vriska Serket, you are wrong. The Staff-Bearer has done great things.”

“Bluh bluh. No, he just thinks he’s right a8out everything when he’s noooooooot.” You stop for a moment, and focus on Adele. “If you get blown up by homemade explosives, or shot by security, or die of old age with nothing to show for it, you think he’ll come to save you? No. The only one who you’ll get to meet is the Maid of Time. She will talk with you just long enough so that you’ll understand how much you wasted your life, and then you’ll die. Dead. There’s no afterlife, you know that, right?”

Adele looks right back at you, meeting your eightfold gaze without blinking. “I know that. What is the point of this, Lady Serket?”

Is she really that dense? “The point is that gambling everything for no gain is a 8ad 8et. You’re supposed to enjoy your life, not throw it away for some stupid, pointless cause.”

“You are wrong. There is a meaning to this. Just because it’s not to my personal gain, doesn’t mean that the cause is pointless.” She pauses. “Lady Serket, I don’t think you are really trying to help me. I think you’re just trying to sway my loyalties away from the Prince of Hope.”

“Hey! This is some real divine wisdom here, you ingrate!” You cross your arms. “It has nothing to do with Eridan, I’m just laying out the facts, here.”  
  
“You don’t care about facts,” she says. “You said so yourself.”

Now you’re angry. “But _you_ care about them, right?”

“You’re avoiding the topic.”

“What even _is_ the topic?”

“Why did you ask me to dance?”

You bare your teeth. “It doesn’t matter why. That’s my prerogative as a goddess.”

“You didn’t care a whit about that miner. You don’t care a whit about me. Yet you lied, pretended to care. Why? What is the point of this exercise?”

You reach forward and shove her. She stumbles, hits the wall, stunned. You stand, grab her shoulder, and dig your claws in.

She looks scared. Good.

“I like to gamble,” you say. “I like to play games. And you just broke the rules.”

You kiss her, then, and she kicks you in the shin with her flats.

Fuck, you haven’t had a caliginous fling in _ages_.

But when you pull back, her expression is… not hateful. Frightened, yes, but more… puzzled. “Vriska Serket,” she says. “When was the last time your games had a purpose?”

No. That… no. Why would she ask something like that?

You let go of Adele, and step back. She steps forward.

“Vriska Serket, I don’t think you’re doing your duty as a goddess.”

“Ha! There _is_ no ‘duty as a goddess’ you stupid-”

“You say you like games. So you’re going around, messing with my life, with people’s lives for no reason? For no _gain._ You’re playing your games for pittance. You’re immortal. You have infinite time. You could have as much money, as many resources, as you could possibly want. It’s insignificant to you. You are _gambling with nothing, for nothing._ ”

“What do you know about-”

“Without the thrill of potential loss… Vriska Serket, you have no purpose.”

She has not touched you, but you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

She is looking at you with intense pity. “Let me help you.”

No. Barely thinking about it, you’re wearing your godhood, and your wings fill the room with gossamer-blue.

“N8t a ch8nce,” you snarl.

She opens her mouth, to speak.

And you steal her luck.

All of it.

You don’t stay to see what happens. Maybe she has a heart attack, or a stroke, or spontaneously combusts. You don’t know. You don’t care.

You’re halfway to the next galaxy by the time you allow yourself to cry.


End file.
